


Wish You Were Here

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Imagine your OTP, trigger warning: heartbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A postcard can speak a thousand words.</p><p>This is just me imagining what happens post series 3, even though it's not over yet (I can't take anymore!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all. Me again, trying to make some sort of sense of the events of 3.16. I know a lot of us have feels about it. Anyway hopefully this'll be a patch on the wound!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the unsaid things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minimal spoilers for 3.16.

Abbie stood awkwardly in the doorway whilst he packed, his room smelling of earl grey tea and sandalwood, a smell that she would associate with tall time-traveller Ichabod Crane as long as she lived.

"You're going today?"

He looked up from his packing. A lock of his dark golden hair fell forward into his face, giving him a boyish look. Her heart squeezed.

"As your generation are fond of saying, there's no time like the present. With the most recent Tribulation over, and your.... exploration of other matters, it seemed prudent that I go now."

 _Other matters._  He meant Danny, she knew. And her stomach clenched uncomfortably.

She watched him fold his life into the suitcase. Books, of course. Soft linen shirts, with the stringy ties at the neck. At what point had he stopped with the cravats? At what point had she started to look forward to seeing that triangle of his chest, softly furred? At what point had she started to wonder how he would taste, right  _there,_  where his pulse thudded?

But that was before Danny, she told herself.

Besides. She and Crane had never really "defined" their relationship. Their dedication was to saving the world, not to each other.

She stood stiffly still, her body in one place but her emotions fighting inside her, a silent war, as he played Tetris inside the case. He packed his toiletry bag – little beard scissors, the sandalwood oil thing that she’d come to associate with his presence, toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, a little pot of minty salve.

He was leaving again. And she would let him go. Allow him his space. Didn’t they both deserve that after everything they’d suffered?

“Will you keep in touch, this time?”

He looked up, met her gaze with his startlingly blue eyes. “I promise you that I shall. Postcards shall adorn your refrigerator.”

“They’d better,” she sassed, but it was weak.

He closed the suitcase and she watched his long fingers secure the straps and click the fastenings into place.

“Do you need a lift to the airport?”

“I’ve called a conveya – a cab, thank you.” He stood stiffly, at parade ground rest, and Abbie shifted on her feet, feeling just sick at heart. Something had changed between them, and she wondered, not for the first time since he had announced his trip, whether their bond would stretch halfway around the world, without strain. Would their parting leave a mark? Something that would fade, or more of a scar, that ached every time she thought about it? The rift seemed to widen every day, and damn if she knew what to do about it.

“You don’t need to correct yourself, you know,” she teased.

He smiled slightly. Nothing like the sort of smiles he’d given her whilst they shared the meals he’d prepared. Whilst they’d played chess. Or the heartfelt smile he’d bestowed upon her when she’d returned from the Catacombs. He’d looked at her as if she was the moon, the stars, and everything in between.

She had no idea how to get back to that.

“If I am to acclimatise fully in this century, then yes, I do,” he replied softly, taking up his suitcase and making for the door. “And if I do not – what am I to be? The odd man? Someone to be pitied? Someone whom others think need psychiatric assistance? No, Miss Mills, I shall yet learn to behave as a modern man.”

She bit her lip. _Miss Mills._ So formal. He might be standing before her, but in his mind he was already several steps further away.

She pushed down the disappointment. “Well, Crane on a plane is a good start,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone.

They walked together to the front door, then stood on the porch awkwardly. How did they say goodbye? After all that had happened, nothing seemed appropriate enough to address the yawning chasm of miles that would soon separate them.

At a loss, Abbie just went with her gut, and, remembering the 1781 Crane she had known, briefly, she threw her arms around him. After a moment, he dropped the suitcase and returned the hug, holding her so very tightly. Emotion welled up inside her; her eyes burned. Everything inside her screamed silently for him to stay.

But this was the choice she had made. She’d opted to forge a path with Danny, and Crane was leaving. On a jet plane. Her lips curved slightly.

 _He’ll be back,_ she comforted herself as they held each other. He wasn’t leaving forever. But the uncertainly in her heart made her hug him tighter, pressing her face into his chest, feeling his heart beat against her cheek. After another moment, one of his hands threaded through her hair, and for the first time since he’d retrieved his battered brown suitcase from the attic, she felt everything inside her… settle. Being in his arms felt right in a way that she had never wanted to discuss with herself, never wanted to examine.

Until now, when he was literally halfway out the door. _Way to go, Mills._

She felt the lightest pressure on the top of her head, and knew he had dropped a kiss there. Twin lances of pain and joy speared right through her centre as he ended the embrace.

“Bon voyage.” She looked up into his blue, blue eyes, and wondered if he could hear the million things she wasn’t saying.

“Until we meet again.” He playfully saluted her as he made his way down the porch steps. At the curb, a cab pulled up, ready to spirit him away on his far-off adventure.

Abbie sat down heavily on the porch as he opened the cab door and got into the vehicle. She waved him away, a smile pasted on her face, and tried not to think about how much she needed to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first postcard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me assure you that Ichabbie is still my endgame. 
> 
> As if any of you who have read my other stuff had any doubt *snorts*

_Leaving', on a jet plane. Don't know when I'll be back again._

Ichabod shut off the tune on the MP3 player Abbie - Miss Mills, he must think of her  _only_ as Miss Miss - had given him as a going away present. He was surprised that she had not opted for extra phone chargers.

He had promised to keep in touch.

He sat awkwardly in his seat on the plane as the attendants went through the motions of the safety demonstration. The first time he had seen this, it had terrified him more than his first battle. More than loading a rifle and marching forward, always forward.

The plane taxied down the runway and he pushed down his nerves. He had flown before. He could do it again.

Miss Mills, Miss Jenny, Joe, and the others, all felt so far away already.

He reached into the pocket of his coat to switch off his smartphone, and just before he did so, he saw a text missive from Miss Jenny.

_So you took the coward's way out, huh. Never figured you for it._

He heard her voice as he read the words, and switched his phone off, closing his eyes to the myriad voices chiding him.

Perhaps he should have stayed. But-

To stay and see Daniel Reynolds courting his Lieutenant? He clenched his hands into fists on his thighs.  _Not yours. Not now._

To stay and see their happiness together would be akin to piercing himself a thousand times over with a thousand, tiny blades. Akin to creating a wound that would never heal over, always open. Always aching. Unconsciously his hand ghosted over the axe scar on his chest. He had no wish to add another such scar to his body.

Although the petite Lieutenant had already left a scar on his heart. Invisible to the eye, but nonetheless present. Nonetheless... painful.

The plane left the ground and he swallowed, still unaccustomed to the sensation of weightlessness, the drop, the pitch of his stomach. The lady next to him nudged him with her elbow, smiling faintly. "Never gets easier, does it? Leaving the ground behind."

"Indeed it does not," he replied, his voice a little shaky yet.

* * *

 

_Dear Miss Mills,_

_I trust this postcard missive finds you in good health. I have returned to my family's ancestral seat in Scotland, in order to attempt to trace a little more of my family tree, or at the very least a branch or two._

_The food here is excellent, the people friendly and most helpful. I have secured lodgings in a nearby guesthouse with a kindly lady who is fast assuring my addiction to her "tattie scones." Thankfully, to counter this I am walking daily._

_There is little room to write more on this "postcard," but as they say, brevity is the soul of wit._

_I am, respectfully, yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_

 

 

* * * 

"Oooh, first postcard," Jenny said as she opened the fridge for a soda. "Scotland."

Abbie looked up from her FBI paperwork. It hadn't been holding her attention.

Very few things had held her attention since Crane had walked out of the door. She shut the notebook and reached her for glass of iced tea. "Something you want to say?" she asked her sister.

Jenny perched on the stool opposite Abbie and cracked open her soda. "Nope."

"Well, your face is sure talking loud."

Jenny lifted her eyebrows and gave her sister the "who, me?" face.

Abbie stared up at the postcard. The front showed a castle on a steep cliff. The sky was an impossible blue, the grass so green it hurt her eyes. With the azure sea stretching to the horizon, it looked like paradise.

Maybe Crane would find his true home there.

And maybe he wouldn't be alone.

She hated herself.

"You made your choice," she muttered.

By her side, her phone started to buzz. The caller ID said: DANNY.

She picked up.

 

* * * 

 

She and Danny walked through the park, hand in hand. Danny had arrived with warm pretzels; Abbie's favourite. The sight and his thoughtfulness cheered her. It would be OK, she thought as she brushed sugar off her cheek with her free hand. Perhaps she'd been right after all.

"So... anymore... supernatural stuff happen?"

"It's not constant, Danny," Abbie replied softly. She had some sympathy for him - it had been something of an adjustment - an understatement - for her, too. More so for Ichabod, who had been transplanted two hundred odd years into the future to boot. At least she'd had friends around her to cushion the blow somewhat. "I still have the semblance of a life. Laundry. TV. Poker games with Jenny and Joe."

He squeezed her hand. "And me."

"And now you," she acknowledged.

He stopped under the shade of a huge, bowed oak tree, and let go of her hand to gently tip her chin up. "I get the feeling you're holding out on me, Abs."

She squirmed under his gaze, her stomach pitching. She chewed on her lip for a second, and then, after a short internal battle, decided to say it. "I know there were extenuating circumstances surrounding it, but.... the way you spoke to Crane that day, it didn't sit well with me."

He blinked. "Okay, what?"

"You cut him off. When you were... asking about the historian. He tried to explain."

Danny stared at her for a long second. "I... I'd just been chewed out about - well, I know why you did what you did  _now._ But I was on one hell of a trip. Still am." He ran a hand through his short hair. "I admit that I was out of line. I'll apologise to him."

Abbie nodded. "Thanks."

She should have felt better. Danny had admitted his error. He'd say sorry.

When Crane came back.

When Danny leaned in to kiss her, she kissed him back, because it quieted the voice that silently asked,  _but will he come back?_

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our world is, infact, so small.

_Dear Miss Mills_

_I have arrived in Ireland, and today visited the Guinness Storehouse in the city of Dublin. I left a post-it missive on the large board on the highest floor of the building. It amazed me that so many people from, it seems, every corner of this Earth have come together to leave similar missives. The collection of them together suddenly made me feel that our world, is, in fact, so small._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_

 

_* * *_

_Dear Miss Mills_

_I today visited the Giant's Causeway in Galway, Ireland. I stood with others as the sun set upon the collection of rough-hewn rocks, each a stepping stone to either rolling hills or crashing ocean. Upon the encouragement of my fellow journeymen, I took a seat in the famed Wishing Chair, though I am told I must not share my wish or it shall not come true. I do not believe in such fancy, but... perhaps, just in case, I shall not write it here._

_Respectfully Yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_

 

_* * *_

"You're getting quite the collection of postcards from Crane," Joe remarked as he fetched dessert from the fridge. He, Abbie, Danny and Jenny were huddled around the table, playing poker.

Crane had been gone six weeks.

For the most part, Abbie's life had shifted back to... a semblance of normality.

She worked. She did laundry. She cooked. She jogged until her legs felt like rubber. Danny took her on dates. They kissed at the movies.

It was... nice.

What a shame that nice didn't make her heart skip a beat. And nice didn't smell like sandalwood.

A lot of the time she managed not to think about that. Managed quite well.

Joe dealt the cards, five to each of them. They were using pennies to gamble with. Food was spread out on the table - sloppy joes, ice cream, packets of sweet chilli chips. It had become something of a Friday night tradition, poker and fast food with her friends.

The only thing missing was a man out of time. Cooking whilst singing. Drinking an insane amount of Earl Grey tea. Whipping HaloIsMyBitch on the console. Neatly folding her clothes. Buying flowers from the market and leaving them in a vase by her incoming mail.

He had occupied every corner of her house, it seemed.

And now it was no longer a home, but four walls with windows. How could one person make such a difference?

"Abs?"

She snapped to at the sound of Danny's voice. "Sorry... I was ... woolgathering."

Joe laughed. "That's what Crane always says."

Danny glanced at her, concern writ large on his face. She studied her cards. "I'm back in the game, guys." She flipped a coin into the centre, signalling that she was ready to start betting.

 

* * *

_Dear Miss Mills,_

_London is akin to the seventh and most fiery circle of hell._

_The London Eye  - which is not at all an eye but a giant form of ferris wheel through which one views the sprawl of the city - almost succeeded in separating me from my hastily eaten luncheon._

_I have toured the breathtaking delights of the British Museum, and laid eyes upon items I would never have dreamed to see whilst living my prior life. Truly, the modern world is a marvel. And, so are the small "travel" kettles installed in hotel rooms. They are even so kind as to furnish me with Earl Grey upon request._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Ichabod Crane._

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emails from our time-traveller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I, unfortunately, have no photoshop skills, you'll have to imagine the travel snapshots that Crane emails Joe. Anyone fancy it...?
> 
> Thanks to @nathyfaith for the email idea!
> 
> I am SO stoked on the feedback I've received so far. You're all ace.

From: ichabodcrane2016@gmail.com  

To: corbinj@gmail.com

Subject: Greetings

\--------

_Dear Master Corbin_

 

_I write this to you from an Internet Cafe in Northern Wales. My travels are proving most illuminating, but not as restful as hoped. I find I am consumed with worry for our good Lieutenant. Perhaps you can advise me on her well-being?_

_I hope that you and Miss Jenny are well, that the Archives still stand, and that the forces of evil are not proving troublesome in Sleepy Hollow. Should you see Captain Irving, I would be grateful if you would pass along my fondest regards._

_Please tell Miss Jenny that I have not forgotten her text missive on the day of my departure. However, I feel that any other form of action on my part would have forced a  spur of the moment decision from the Lieutenant which she may have regretted._

_I attach the following photographs from my journeys._

 

_Respectfully,_

_Ichabod Crane_

 

* * * 

From:  corbinj@gmail.com

To: ichabodcrane2016@gmail.com

Subject: re: Greetings

\------ 

_Crane,_

_Good to hear from you! Yeah, we're good. Abbie is, well, Abbie. She eats and sleeps and plays poker with us. Things seem to be going OK with Reynolds as far as I know. She doesn't really talk about it. The fridge is looking good with the growing collage of your postcards._

_I do know that she misses you. Though, classic Abs, she doesn't speak about that either. But she looks at your postcards. A lot._

_Jenny says: whatever, dude, you should have grown a pair._

_If you don't know what that means, I am not gonna elaborate._

_Enjoy your travels. Be safe._

_Joe._

 

* * * 

 

_Dear Miss Mills_

_I write to you from Wales, where the accents are melodious, if a little difficult to decipher, and the food is hearty and plentiful. I have explored the "living history" museum on the outskirts of Cardiff. This evening I plan to partake of a boating tour around the local bay area, and have been advised of local eateries to which I should pay a call._

_As ever, I am hoping that you are in good health, and that my postcard missives bring you pleasure._

_Yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking up is hard to do... (unless you get Ichabod after)..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like Danny, but I don't want to make him into this horrible villain, either. I don't know. It just felt like making him a horrid sleazeball (because that was my first draft of this chapter) cheapened the fic a bit. Only my opinion.

Crane had been gone eleven weeks.

* * *

"You seem... off," Danny commented as Abbie cleared away their dinner dishes. She'd thrown together ham, vegetables, pesto and pasta, half-heartedly, half-thinking about a tall Englishman who would have done so with more aplomb, and certainly with more singing. "Are you okay?"

She pushed down her irritation at his fussing. Odd. When Crane had fussed over her as she'd cut her hand playing chess, she hadn't been nearly as irritated. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"You've said that every night this week," he replied, but, to his credit, his tone was gentle.

She glanced at him as he loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Working in the Bureau is no picnic, you know," she attempted to tease him.

He leaned against the counter as she finished stacking the dishwasher. "I know. And - if it gets on top of you, just say, and I'll-"

"Do what, exactly?" She closed the dishwasher and snagged a hair band from her pocket, bunching her wild curls into a loose ponytail. "Cut me some slack? I'm not after special treatment, Danny. Not now and not ever. Just because work is hard doesn't mean I want my boss helping me... under the table."

"I can think of better things to do to you under the table," he cracked, but, although he  _was_ handsome, the joke didn't tickle her.

"Danny, we have to talk."

His face took on a very serious expression. "That does  _not_ sound good."

She crossed over into the living area and sat on the couch, her back straight. She felt as if she hadn't relaxed in - how long exactly? Oh yeah. She'd stopped relaxing the moment Ichabod Crane had walked out of her life.

She stared at the coffee table with its empty vase. He was the one who shopped for flowers and arranged them just so to make her smile. Now every vase in the house stood empty, a sad little vessel devoid of purpose.

Danny took a seat on the couch, leaving a polite distance between her and himself, which she appreciated. He set his beer on the coffee table. "I take it this isn't about me staying the night," he joked weakly.

Abbie cleared her throat, her stomach churning awkwardly. But she pushed past the discomfort, knowing what she had to do. "Danny, I should start by saying I'm sorry."

He nodded gravely, without speaking.

"As you know, I haven't been myself these last few months - at all. And I can tell you now that it's because of the evil that resides in and over Sleepy Hollow. It's changed me. And when I came back from my.. time  _away,_ I was even more of a mess. I still am a mess, in a lot of ways." She paused, glancing at him, seeing concern sketched on his blunt features. "I did have feelings for you. I really did. But.. this isn't what I want, and I'm sorry for thinking that it was. Sorry for leading you on."

He sighed heavily, and for a long moment, an awkward silence threaded between them, cobwebbing the air between their bodies. Finally he said, surprising her, "You don't need to be sorry." He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and looked down at his feet for a moment. "It was thoughtless of me to continue pursuing you after you unloaded all the... monster shit."

The room seem to shout with silence, until Abbie leaned forward and hugged him. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hey, maybe if I'd have told you I loved you back in the Academy... who knows."

"Who knows," she agreed. "But maybe we all end up walking the path we're meant to, in the end."

She saw him out, her heart a little lighter. They could be friends, she thought. It would be OK.

As she brewed herself some coffee, Jenny poked her head out from the utility room. "Is it over?"

Abbie snorted out a laugh. "I'm shocked you kept hidden for this long. Yeah. It's over. He took it OK, considering."

Jenny padded out into the kitchen on bare feet and hugged her sister. "Now what?"

"Hell if I know." Abbie stirred sweetener into her coffee and wrapped her hands around the mug. "How do I even know if Crane feels the way I do?"

Jenny stared at her. "Sometimes I think you must be blind. But, if you need proof..." She took Abbie's arm and walked her to the refrigerator. A dozen postcards vied for attention, rapidly taking over the face of the white box. "Look at all these cards."

"What about them?"

Jenny plucked a random few out from under the magnets. "What's the one consistent word he uses,  _over_ and  _over_ again? What's the word he signs off with?"

Now that Abbie saw it, it was impossible to unsee. It was everywhere.

_Yours._

* * * 

From: ichabodcrane2016@gmail.com  

To: corbinj@gmail.com

Subject: Missive

 

_Dear Master Corbin_

_I write this from a charming little guesthouse in Paris, the purported city of love. I must admit that it is enchanting, seemingly with tempting boulangeries on each corner._

_I hope that you and Miss Jenny are in good health, and of course, my warmest thoughts are with our Lieutenant at all times._

_I have not long returned from the General Post Office from which I have posted a letter. I have long been thinking about your words to me in the Archives that day, not so long ago. It is, Master Corbin, long past time that I took my own advice. I am only sorry that a journey halfway around the globe was required for me to realise it._

_Perhaps we will see each other again soon._

_Respectfully,_

_Ichabod Crane_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A love letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @decaffeinated and @nathyfaith for the letter idea! I hope you like what I've done. I studied about a dozen 18th century love letters, but kept it short as I couldn't quite get Crane's voice (IMO).

Abbie woke up in Crane’s bed. It was Saturday.

 

She had taken herself there in the dead of night, after waking from a nightmare involving a Face Time call from Crane, in which he’d introduced her to his gorgeous Scottish wife and their wholesome, plump-cheeked children. She’d shot up in bed, heart racing, sliding her hand under her pillow to touch the one postcard she kept there.

 

_You’re a mess, Mills._

She pressed her face into his pillow, lightly sandalwood-scented, and breathed in deeply.

 

This was what it had come to. He had been gone 12 weeks and she was hugging his pillow just to get to sleep. Just to feel close to him, in some small way.

 

Abbie stretched out in the big double bed, sighing, and turned over, opening one eye to look at the clock – a retro twinbell one to make him feel somewhat more at home, the digital ones didn’t do it for him – and saw that it was past eight.

 

As she sat up, dragging her hands through her hair, forcing the last fragments of the nightmare away, she heard the creak of the little flag on her mailbox outside.

 

In her baggy PJs, she padded downstairs and flicked the switch on the coffee machine as she made her way to the porch and drew the bundle of mail out of its small metal house. With the items in hand, she closed the door behind her and flipped through the stack as she waited. Bill. Bill. Bill. Advertising. Election material.

 

And…. A long, slim white envelope with a France postmark. And.. she turned it over to reveal a beautiful, blood red wax seal with the impression of a quill in the centre. She hadn’t seen a wax seal like this outside of the historical society.

 

Her heart leapt up into her throat in one jolting movement. Coffee totally forgotten, she set the other mail aside and walked with the envelope over to the breakfast bar, where she absently pulled out a chair and sat.

 

Her name and address were clearly written in a loopy masculine hand. She slipped her small finger under the edge of the seal and slowly worried at the paper around it until the edges tore open, and she was able to pull out a tri-folded letter, on heavy parchment paper. She shook her head, bemused. Only Crane would go to such trouble to make something as simple as a letter look so beautiful.

 

Spreading it out on the breakfast bar, she began to read.

 

_My Dearest Abigail_

_Allow me to begin by saying that you have consumed most of my waking thoughts and each and every of my dreaming ones._

_Throughout my travels, the greenest blades of grass, the most succulent of fruits, the bluest of oceans, have all paled in comparison to how I ache for you. Your smile, your laugh, your patient explanation of modern items which confound me._

_Your absence has left a void which, to date, nothing has adequately filled. I fear I will find nothing that will suffice._

_You may not know it, but, God’s wounds, I am, and ever and always will be, whether you will have me or no,_

_Yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_

She read it over and over, heedless of the tears streaming down her cheeks. She had no idea when she had started crying, only that the tears, now they had begun, were unstoppable. Great heaving sobs which wracked her body, a waterfall release of all the tension, all the sadness, all the damn _missing_ his stupid face, the smell of his stupid coat, the archaic curse words he used when playing on the console, the singing whilst cooking, all the Italian words he dropped into conversation. The tight band of his arms around her at the end of a tiring day.

 

And it hit her like a train. She didn’t just have feelings for him. She was inescapably in love with him.

 

A breeze from the kitchen window fluttered the empty envelope, and she noticed another, smaller piece of paper tucked inside it. Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she pulled it out, scanning it.

 

It was a print out of flight times. Specifically, flights arriving from France to the local airport. And one had been circled.

 

A flight touching down in two hours’ time.

 

Abbie had never washed and changed faster in her entire life.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All right, people. The ridiculous airport reunion scene we all want.
> 
> THANK YOU for sticking with this, I really appreciate it.

"Will you just sit still?"

Abbie glared at her sister, in the driver's seat.

Joe sat in the back. It had seemed fitting, Jenny had insisted, that she drive, as Abbie was too filled with nervous energy to operate machinery. Joe had come along, ostensibly in support of his friends, but, in reality, for the entertainment.

"She's too excited," Joe piped up.

"Shut up, all of you." Abbie folded her arms and shrank into the seat, wondering why the airport was  _so damn far away._

Twelve weeks. Twelve of the longest weeks of her life. And considering the Catacombs, wasn't that saying something?

And he was coming back.

The joy of it, the simple,  unfettered joy, had filled her up like a bottle of soda. She had no idea how to control herself. Or how she'd react when she saw him. Her foot tapped in the footwell. Anxiety warred with the joy. What would he do when they saw each other? What if he'd changed his mind? What if he felt differently? How about if he'd met someone  _awesome_ on the plane ride ho-

"He'll never change his mind," Jenny said mildly. When Abbie glared again, she added, "This is a man who hasn't changed his  _coat_ in two hundred-fifty years. He loves that coat. And he loves  _you._ "

Her sister's matter-of-fact reassurance set the normally-confident Abbie at ease, and the three companionably listened to the local radio for the rest of the journey.

Finally,  _finally,_ they pulled up in the airport pickup zone, and Abbie shot out of the car almost before Jenny had put it in park. She was vaguely aware of her sister and Joe following behind as she struggled to walk, not run, to the arrivals area, scanning the boards to check which terminal he'd arrive through.

Her heart pounded hard. Her legs fairly trembled; her body full of nervous, anxious energy. 

They reached the arrivals gate. A steady stream of people were making their way down the exit tunnel, bags in hand. A throng of well-wishers stood by the various chairs and seating arrangements. Some held balloons and stuffed toys, some just held plain signs with names on and wore bored expressions.

Abbie searched the faces for a familiar one. The only one that mattered.

People passed, and her heart began to grow heavy. Maybe he'd circled the wrong flight. Maybe she'd got the time wrong, she thought desperately as the stream of people thinned to a trickle.

And then he came around the corner, and she saw his face. Exactly as it had been the day he'd left, and all the emotions stoppered up inside her burst free, a waterfall of energy and love and happiness and a million other things she had never said.

She was running before she even realised it, full out, unwilling to spend even one more second separated from this man. She was barely aware of him dropping his bag, lifting his arms to catch her, she half-heard his soft, startled "Oh!" when she clamped around him like a vise, every inch of her pressed to him, breathing him in like she was dying and he was her first gulp of fresh air. Of _life_.

"Lieutenant," he murmured, his voice a caress, and all at once, her world was the correct way up again.

"You're back," she whispered into his neck, and heard her voice crack on the second word.

"Never to leave you again." He buried his face in her hair, and held on so very tight.  "I swear."

The world narrowed to their embrace, and for long moments, the noise of the airport, the hustle and bustle of other travellers, the bright whirl of the arrivals screen, fell away to nothing. She clung to him and listened to his breaths and his heartbeat, and it was the sweetest music she had ever heard.

"Missed you." His neck was wet, she thought, confused, and then realised it was from the fall of her own tears.

"And I you, more than mere words could ever convey." He pulled back slightly to gaze into her eyes. "You received my missive."

She nodded, her throat tight, her heart full.

"And my postcards."

"The fridge is covered in them," she affirmed, and slid a hand into his gorgeous lion's-mane hair. 

"There is much to say," he began softly, in a tone that made it clear that his words were for her ears alone. "And much I should like to.. do. But perhaps that is a treat best saved for our home?"

 _Our home._ The words made her heart sing. She allowed him to slide her down, and that was when she noticed.

"Your coat! And your boots! Where are they?"

"In my luggage, I assure you. 'Twas hot and cumbersome to travel in them."

She stared at him for a long moment. He wore a charcoal grey button-down, jeans and what looked like ankle-length boots, disappearing under the hems. The leather jacket that had been slung over the top was battered and still managed to scream _Crane_ although his usual coat was missing.

But he'd come back to her, and he smelled of sandalwood, and he'd called her  _Lieutenant_ (which she'd recently come to think of as his way of conveying his feelings, as he always seemed to say it in a strange sort of undertone), and she wouldn't have cared if he'd been wearing a potato sack.

"As long as you've got them." She took his hand, lacing their fingers as he picked up his luggage with his free hand.

"You seem terribly concerned by the absence of my "re-enactor" clothes. I shall don them again once we are home, if it would please you."

"It hardly seems worth the trouble," she smiled.

He glanced down at her. "Oh?"

She leaned in to him as they walked to Jenny and Joe. "I'd only be taking them right off you again."

"Crane!" Jenny cried as the two Witnesses reached the other Mills sister and her boyfriend. "Good to have you back. Looking a bit red in the face there," she added knowingly.

"Yes, well," he huffed, "It has been rather an exciting welcome home, I'd say."

Joe tossed the car keys in the air and caught them. "Ready to go back to Sleepy Hollow?"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what happens next....


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our favourite witnesses get it on. *wink*

Somehow, the house - their house - was exactly as he'd left it. He had expected - what? For the good Lieutenant to have boxed up his items and carted them to a Goodwill store?

No, of course not. She was far too loyal for that. But seeing everything untouched squeezed his heart. Hard.

Joe and Jenny deposited the takeout food they'd bought on the drive home on the wide kitchen table and Jenny shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair.

Ichabod shrugged off his own coat, too, his cheeks heating at the memory of Abbie's comment earlier about his "re-enactment" clothing. He started a little at the feel of a small hand at his back. When he glanced down, the Lieutenant looked up at him, expectation and desire and need swathed on her beautiful face, and he was very, very torn between wanting to catch up with his friends, and wanting her all to himself.

It had been a very long twelve weeks. Perhaps the longest of his life to date.

But he owed his friends this much. Some time. Travel stories. Food. As Jenny and Joe busied themselves setting out plates and cutlery, he caught Abbie's wandering hand in his own and raised it to his lips. "I swear to you that this evening, I shall be yours and yours alone," he murmured.

"You'd better make good on that." Her lips curved a little on the last word, and her eyes danced with humour.

With regret, they parted, and he spent a good hour regaling the three with holiday stories, and showing them the terrible, blurry and out of shot photos he had taken on the camera he'd picked up at a secondhand shop in Scotland. He showed them his own grave "morbid, Crane, even for you," Joe commented, the lady who had almost made him fat with "tatty scones," his view from the London Eye.

"You know what makes me happy?" Jenny asked. "That you have no skill with a camera at all. That makes me feel great. For so long, you've been adept at pretty much everything, but not photography."

He smiled. "And not cooking, at least, not always."

Abbie laughed. "I was cleaning Bedfordshire Clanger residue off the oven for  _weeks._ I didn't let him near a tea towel for a long time."

As the sun drew low in the sky and cicadas started to chirp their twilight song, Joe and Jenny tossed the food wrappers in the trash. "You guys probably want to catch up," Joe ventured.

"Thank you, Master Joe," Ichabod affirmed.

Jenny smirked. "I hope not to hear from you for  _hours,_ Abs," she teased, and Ichabod felt his face heat. He busied himself washing up, trying to hide his embarrassment, but amused all the same.

"Shut up, Jenny." But the Lieutenant hugged her sister as the couple left for the snug warmth of Jenny's trailer.

Ichabod closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.

"Alone at last," Abbie said quietly, her gaze trained on his face. 

"Lieutenant." He cupped her sweet face, a face he had thought of every moment of his time away. He had missed her voice. Her laugh. Her presence. Her steady warmth. "There is much to tell you-"

"And I want to hear it. I do." She covered his own hand with hers, and, holding his gaze, moved it to her chest, where her heart beat a fast tattoo. "But.... could we talk afterwards? This has been a long, long time coming." At his silence, she added, teasingly, "Do we have an accord?"

"Oh, we most certainly do." He swung her into his arms. She was such a small weight, really. Her head pillowed naturally on his shoulder. The slight warmth of her breath on the pulsepoint of his neck was perhaps the most sensual thing he'd experienced.

They didn't speak as he carried her up the stairs, the tread of his boots echoing lightly on the wooden steps.

"Your room, or-"

"Yours," she whispered against his neck. "I actually can't believe I'm about to admit this, but I slept there... while you were away."

"You did?"

"It made me feel... close to you. Tonight, that's all I want."

He set her gently on the bed, and kissed her, a long, deep kiss that only stoked the fire of his need for her to greater heights. "I give myself to you, only too willingly."

As she sat on the bed, the twilight of the evening weaving through the open window, cocooning them in soft pink and grey light, he undressed her as he'd unwrap a beautiful, years-hidden treasure.

His only wish was that he would have years to lavish on each of her body parts, on each inch of perfect skin. On the tempting swells of her breasts. On the small curve of her waist. Almost small enough that his hands met when his embraced her. On the lean, smooth lines of her legs. On the hot, needy place between her legs.

She was his every dream wrapped up in one hot parcel as he spoiled her with attention, slowly peeling away each garment and ghosting kisses over her neck, her shoulders, the sensitive place where her stomach dipped. At the first touch of his tongue on her nipple, she arched off the bed, her hands clutching greedily in his hair, demanding only more. He teased her until her legs locked tight around his hips, until she groaned his name through gritted teeth. She shivered when he moved his eager mouth between her legs, satisfaction blooming in his chest as she arched into him, her body shuddering under his ministrations. She tasted sweeter than he could ever had imagined - and he'd imagined plenty on all those lonely nights, on his travels. Had come into his hand more than once, wondering how wet she would be. How her muscles would clamp around him.

He had to strain not to ruin himself now, as he brought her to another shaking climax. He'd had kept going, seeing to her only pleasure, if one small hand hadn't dragged him up by the collar, if a familliar voice hadn't demanded for  _more,_   _now._

His Lieutenant didn't want to wait. And he could, not now and not ever, deny her nothing.

Almost all the light had faded from the room as he discarded his clothes, not caring where they fell. Her body was hot as he covered her with his, and when she wrapped his arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, he thought, for perhaps the first time in either of his lives:  _I am home._

"Don't make me wait another second," she whispered.

And he didn't. With a slow, smooth movement, he filled her, and shuddered with the mind-blanking pleasure of it. The feeling of being utterly and completely content. And whole.

They moved together for what seemed an eternity, their bodies perfectly in sync together, fluid in motion. Ichabod's heart squeezed at the feel of Abbie's small legs locked around his waist, at the gasps of his name falling from her lips.  _This_ was Heaven, and somehow despite all his actions of the past he had attained it.

They brought each other to a heady climax, tumbling through it together, bodies locked in place as the rest of the light fled the outside world and the moon made its lazy ascent into the horizon.

"Perhaps I should take venture into Europe more often," Ichabod mused as Abbie curled up beside him, her arm draped bonelessly across his chest.

She made a fist and punched his shoulder, but there was no heat in her swing. "I'll kill you myself if you try. They'll never find the body. I'm in the FBI, you know."

He stroked a weak hand down her hair. "I believe your threat. Never again shall I leave your side," he added, more seriously. "Abbie, my dear, I thought.... I laboured under the idea that you and Agent Reynolds, well, that is-"

"I was labouring under a few ideas myself," Abbie admitted  at length. "Sometimes you have to be without the thing you need to realise how much you need it. You know?"

"I do know. Very much."

Silence stretched between them.

"I had nightmares, you know," Abbie murmured, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her index finger. "You and your gorgeous wife would FaceTime me, and tell me how much you were in love."

Ichabod chuckled. "And you think I did not have the same fears? That you and Agent Reynolds would stroll off into the FBI-branded sunset, with matching holsters and rulebooks?"

She snorted a laugh.

"Abbie. If you ever need reassurance, you only need to look at me to know that I am, inescapably, in love with you. I think I have been, ever since you arrested me."

She laughed again. 

"And if that isn't enough, I aim to spend every moment of my life from this day hence, proving it to you." He rolled over, trapping under beneath him, capturing her mouth in a hot, hard kiss. " _You_ are the reason my life stopped over two hundred years ago and started again. And a happier man, in either time, you'll never find, if you'll only say you love me, too."

Tears escaped Abbie's eyes as she cupped his face. "I love you. And as for proving it to me... " she titled her hips enticingly. "What are you waiting for?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everyone, for reading. 
> 
> I'm sorry this last chapter took so long - life sort of imploded (but in a good way!).


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